The Wicked and The Blind

[Chevu Visz]

“Adasca? I worked for Senator Adasca on Arkania.” she said incredulously. Their fates seemed to be intertwined in more ways than one. “Small galaxy, eh?”

Chevu never had her palm read before, and it was fascinating and scary all at once. She’d always suspected that it was some kind of superstitious mumbo jumbo, but as Gabriel began to trace the lines on her palm and interpret their significance, she wondered if perhaps there was some validity to it. According to his reading, she had been emotionally wounded lately.

The Mirialan Jedi blinked in consternation and then nodded vehemently. “I was kidnapped a year ago, from a family on Arkania, actually, and sold into slavery. Luckily I was rescued, but the scars are fresh.”

Although his hands looked calloused, his fingers felt silken as he stroked her skin.

The waiter brought their oysters and poured their mead into fresh glasses. Her palm still wrapped in Gabriel’s hands, Chevu used the Force to bring the glass closer to her and then took a sip of the strong, fermented alcohol with her free hand. It instantly warmed her body, and went straight to her head.

Gabriel continued, mentioning her creativity and cooking. She only shook her head in disbelief. As a handmaiden she learned dancing and singing as well as the culinary arts. She smiled shyly, and looked away. By the Maker, she hoped she wasn’t blushing too badly. Finally, her new friend told her that she had been given a great responsibility that she didn’t think she was ready for.

“Oh yes, Gabriel, that’s absolutely true!” she exclaimed, the words spilling out like a leaky dam. The mead was beginning to erode Chevu’s inhibitions. “I am a Marshall of the New Jedi Order. My Master was supposed to do the job, but fell ill, and sent me in his stead. I am scared to death that I’ll let everyone down.”

The alien girl leaned forward, her face almost inches from his. "What else do you see?"

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He blinked slowly, listening to the confirmation to his words. The force, masked as intuition, pierced deep and true. And she spoke of small worlds, if she only knew the truth. The sort of truth that he would give her, just a brief show and gaze into the real Gabriel. As she leaned forward, he took a glass of his own and sipped of the mead. Something of a taste, acquired from proximity to the Yuzhan Vong. As he set it down, her youth and beauty mere inches away, he reached up to the collar of his woolen shirt. Pulling down, he revealed just the hint of inked tattoos scattered among scars against his chest and collar bones. "I too have known the cold of a cage...and the heat of a lash." He said quietly.

He winced. "My experience with the Adasca family may differ from yours, slightly. I was cast out for my mother, a Jedi Knight with Kiffar heritage. And because of my mixed heritage, I wasn't allowed the opportunity for her clan marking. Cast out from both, I took on my mothers tribal markings and rebelled against my fathers hatred...with kindness in turn." He said as he dropped his hand from his collar, giving just a hint of the tattoos that covered his body beneath his humble clothing. He wasn't sure why, but he had never told anyone that portion of his story. The most truthful expression he had given Chevu. Despite the torture his father had put him through, and the rebellious acts of his youth, he respected that man and the results. Such things couldn't be discredited. "And soon enough, I was captured and shackled in the fighting pits. Tattooine, I think. I can't be entirely sure."

The revelation that she was a Marshall of this new alliance was valuable. But to what end. In order for a war machine to exist, it needs something to war against. And if the rotting corpse of the Galactic Republic was any indication of the state of their foe, Gabriel was more than happy to see a new participant in this fight. He wasn't sure it was the sort of information he would share, not at this juncture. And sipping from the cup once more, he licked his lips and met those brown eyes with a full gaze of his own. "I watched your gait from the very moment we first met. Your movement, your posture. You carry yourself as an experienced fighter..." He said as he set the cup down again, his free hand now moving from her wrist up to her elbow. "Your muscle development and tone, you are gifted particularly well in hand to hand combat. Your palm would indicate the same, soft yet firm. Such would imply, especially with your position, that you are particularly in tune with the efficacy of movement. Dancing, fighting, you intermingle the two."

He tilted his head, his eyes moving from her eyes to just beneath them. His left hand lifted, nearly grazing the tattooed geometric shapes. "One of your strongest palm traits is your creativity, your ability for expression. So I can only assume you were given these for your aptitude in the arts..." He nearly touched the black marks before dropping his fingers to the table, clawing at the chipping enamel. "You wont let anyone down. You are incapable of it. That's what I see, in utmost clarity."

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

A rut formed in Chevu’s brow as she studied Gabriel’s scars. So he was a slave, too. What a wicked galaxy they lived in, that people could be treated no better than farm animals! Chevu’s resolve had never felt tougher than it did looking at the deep ridges in his flesh. Sometimes the abused became abusers, but not Gabriel. He did not let his injustice turn him to wickedness, and this aspect of him she admired deeply.

“I am sorry to hear about your experiences,” she told him in a voice heavy with empathy. “My own brush with slavery was short-lived, so I can only imagine how horrible it must have been to have been forced to fight day after day.”

She lifted the glass of mead to her lips again and after a generous swallow, dished them both a plate of oysters straight from the pot, her appetite suddenly voracious. With a squirt of lemon and a dot of horseradish, she lifted the first oyster to her lips and tipped her head back, swallowing it down in one gulp, careful not to spill the liquid. The mollusk was indulgently savory, and paired with the mead, almost heavenly to her tastebuds. Gabriel certainly knew his food.

His hands continued to wander from her palm to her forearm. Another brushed the apple of her cheek, grazing her tattoos. There was something incredibly sensual about being touched by Gabriel, and Chevu wasn’t sure why. She was almost disappointed when the palm reading ended, the absence of his touch stirring a loneliness in her. Was that it? Was she just lonely?

“It’s heartening to know that, Gabriel,” she said after swallowing another raw oyster and washing it down with more mead. Her eyes became heavy, like almond slivers, and her tone turned imploring.

“Would you join the Galactic Alliance? You’d have to come to Sullust of course, but you would fit right in with us.”

A spark crossed her eyes, coupled with a wide optimistic smile.

“We’re going to set the galaxy on fire.”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He smiled. "Thank you..." He said, ss the oysters were offered to him. But the time for eating would occur in the passing moments, as he watched her eat the first set. Eating vicariously through her, he would enjoy the pleasure twice. Reaching down the edge of the table, he grabbed the bottle of hot sauce. Lemon, horseradish, and hot sauce, he knocked an oyster back with the aid of a small three pronged fork. Once down, he chewed several times, noting the flavor of sweetness, butter, brine, and added heat. So much could be discerned about the oyster from it's taste, where it lived and what waters it surrounded itself in. Troubles in the environment, overall notes of it's proximity. He wondered, if he were to take a bite out of Chevu, what other clues he could learn of her life beyond the reading of her palm. And if he could do it in reverse, what would be told of his life in the flesh offered.

Reaching into the steamer pot with metal tongs, he pulled two ocean scallops from the steam. Plump, ripe and full, he placed one on her plate and left the remaining one on his. Beige, he smiled, knowing well enough about the tendency to bleach food to give it a better appeal. But this natural appearance, it was the sort that would indicate the sweetness and delectable taste. No seasoning needed, he pulled a knife from the towel and cut his in half. Eating that piece he mulled over the question, the irony was something that washed over him in the same sort of waves that delivered his food.

"I have survived Chevu, in the silhouette between the righteous and the evil. It hasn't been the easiest life..." He leaned against the table, pushing his hands together. "The One Sith are evil and need to be stopped, but in the rebuttal, the Republic has hurt those enthralled by them and kept under toe. It has put me in a good position to help all harmed by this war, not just those easily apparent. Many have slipped through the cracks, more than I would like to say."

He kept eye contact as he drank a long drink of his mead, pouring another serving into his cup. He was warm, not yet flushed but on his way, responding by rolling up the gray woolen sleeves of his long sleeve shirt. The act revealed the continuity of the rose scars and tribal Kiffar tattoos, covering his arms. Thankfully for his method of fighting, and utilization of his armor in the War, none of his enemies had ever seen the extent of his markings. Muscular, toned and torn, his fighting in the pits and training had long left it's mark on his fitness.

"What I'm trying to say is this, and please don't take offense..." He paused. "Besides making the right choice to promote a beautiful Mirialan to the rank of Marshall, how is the Galactic Alliance different from the Republic? Do they endorse the Black Flag protocol or do they respect all life, even when it's inconvenient?"

His left hand reached up, perhaps from the mead or perhaps from instinct. Curled fingers would caress the edge of her cheek, if it were there to be touched. "If you start this fire, where will it end?" Perhaps he wanted to inject a sense of control into these ideas, a sense of pragmatism into these ideals. One can't wage war without hurting the constituents of the enemy, or perhaps that was merely the heartless mentality he adopted from a life as a Sith. It was the easiest route, after all, and it seemed the Republic was done trying to take the high road. And in their descent, they had become nothing more than another faction hell bent on winning, at any cost.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The large sea scallop that Gabriel put on her plate was delicious. Chevu couldn’t remember having eaten more delectable piece of seafood, even in the Arkanian senator’s kitchen. As she savored it, she began to think about the Lower City’s hungry refugees and felt a sudden pang of guilt. Knowing that her remorse made no material difference, she shook it off and focused on Gabriel’s words. Her eyes lingered over his gristly arms, tracked with scars and tribal ink, imagining what it would be like to be held in them.

When he called her beautiful, she blushed and bit her lower lip, instantly dropping her gaze to the empty shells on her plate. Compliments always flustered her. Oh right. His question.

“The Alliance in no way endorses the Republic’s Black Flag order. While there may be a few hard-liners in our ranks who tacitly agree with it, most of us find it abhorrent at best and dangerously destructive at worst. We in the New Jedi Order respect life. We believe in rehabilitating those who have fallen to the darkness if it isn’t too late. The Sith should be jailed, not executed without a even so much as a trial."

When his fingers brushed her cheek, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting her attraction towards him bloom, her heart drumming faster with each touch. Her smaller green hand wandered up to meet his, thumb caressing the back of his hand. What was happening? Were they? No, they couldn’t be.

“We will not stop until the Sith are no longer a threat to entire cultures of people and balance is restored to the Force. And we will be ready if and when a new threat arises. Gabriel, there is no stopping. As long as evil is allowed to flourish, there will be no end. Unlike the Republic, though, we won’t forget who we are.”

Tilting her head at him, she noted that he'd dodged her question about joining the Alliance. Her hand gently squeezed his.

"Join us, Gabriel."

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The thought crossed his mind, the notions of rehabilitation. Reckless abandonment of life, blood spilled for the sake of the coating, he couldn't recall a time when his hands were clean. Wrenched deep into the guts of humanity, he festered liked a wound never healed. At one time, he was a tortured soul hidden behind the mask of indifference. But where a soul was long ago compromised for the sake of control, control over the body from a parasitic and deceased brother, he had made far too many exceptions. He had lingered too far into the abyss and what stared back wasn't some beast or demon, merely a reflection of himself in the pool at the bottom. And it looked good, thinking back to it when he realized the switch, back when Reverance and Gabriel were of different minds.

But a tree can only hold so long in the hard winds, before it breaks and grows differently in response. And that was the hard line, so long ago, that led him to this time. Rehabilitation, therein lies the path to weakness and undoing all the work done by evil acts. He swallowed hard, ashamed that his mind had even considered the idea. What good could be had of that, the machine changing conductors? So much sin, so much destruction, for what? It would only dishonor those who lied dead in the wake, knowing that their sacrifice didn't create the greatest change in the universe, but merely preceded the inevitable decline of a mass murderer. No, steps taken can't be undone. Footprints in the duracrete have long dried, immune to erosion, and that wont change. There is only one end to this man and rehabilitation isn't part of it. Only pain.

"Your Alliance...they sound truly worthy of the moniker Jedi. I have been alone for so long, out here in space, that it's the only comfort I know. Always the outcast, never fully welcomed." He said, smiling as her hand pressed against his. His thumb drifted back and forth against her tattoo, just beneath her right eye. He had understood the tone change, her expression from shyness to mere certainty. A form of confidence and trust, her request had changed to an assertion. One that Gabriel could never honor. "But you all fight the Sith, you are Jedi. I am just a man."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, wondering what someone of his projected position could actually do to help these people. What more could be done to sew this deception. "What can a simple man do to help your Alliance? How could I contribute and make a difference?"

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

“You’re more than just a simple man, Gabriel,” the Mirialan insisted, squeezing his hand. “You’re a harbinger of kindness and love to those less fortunate than you. That is worth ten Jedi who sit in a temple and meditate all day!”

Lately [member="Coren Starchaser"]’s influence, once just a seed, planted in her mind, had begun to grow and flourish, nourished by her own doubt about the New Jedi Order’s ability to effectively fight the Sith. Coren believed that the inactivity of the Jedi, as well as their tendency to stress words over action, were part of the problem, not the solution. It lead to a severe crisis of faith in her own Jedihood. Of course, Chevu wouldn’t admit this to Gabriel, as she would not want to cast doubt on the Galactic Alliance. Despite her own confusion in her beliefs, she had the utmost faith in the Galactic Alliance and its ability to do what the Republic couldn’t, to rid the galaxy of the Sith, or at least neuter their ability to function and grow.

“You would no longer be an outcast in the Alliance. There are like-minded people. Non-force users, too! You could accomplish so much more with our numbers. People would be inspired by you.” As I am inspired by you.

Between the mead and dichotomous ideologies of Coren and Oomomo sparring in her head, the restaurant swam before her eyes. Chevu released Gabriel’s hand and dropped her gaze to her plate once more.

“It’s getting kind of late,” she murmured, embarrassed that she might be coming on too strong.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

He smiled as she squeezed his hand, reassuringly. He recalled a time when tenderness wasn't so foreign. A man with a wife, with two children, he too could know love. A sense of normalcy reinforced by the very fact of it, he lived the sort of dream that's hard to recall. Wondering if he had ever dreamed it all, or if it was merely a conjured idea to torment the soul torn apart by villainous acts, to remind that shred of humanity left within him that what he had, many would spend their lives seeking. And in one night, a dream turns into a nightmare and the ghosts that frequent it convince themselves that it's not so bad. There is good to be had here, even in the act of villainy, the universe lies on proper tract. The road to hell is paved with good intentions, and the path to redemption is littered with bones and corpses. And he had more than enough for which to account and he couldn't change who he was, no matter what small portion of him might desire it.

He stared in the mirror long enough, convincing himself that he was a monster. And now he couldn't undue that lie, that thing that slowly changed to truth. And the reflection lost was Gabriel, for the sake of Reverance staring back.

Chevu spoke of acceptance, of kindness, of leadership. But she never mentioned the deception, the lies, the hate, the anger, the pain, the malice. She would burn the galaxy down and he would be the briquette left behind, the cold fire remaining to discern the worthy from those who didn't survive. They wanted the same thing, though the shift from metaphor to literal fire was one that wouldn't go unnoticed. He wanted that fire, he wanted her to start it and feed it until nothing was left. There were those deserving of such ascension, such realization of worth. And it would take their efforts to make that come to fruition.

A drop of the hand stirred him from his thoughts and her lips, as she spoke of it being late. He nodded and rolled his jaw, standing up from the table. He offered her a hand, hoping she would take it, and as they approached the front table, he provided payment and gave a nod to the cashier. "Keep the change, give it away." His mood had changed, he was more vulnerable than he cared to admit. And as they exited from the restaurant, he guided her down the street and away from the lights of the seafood restaurant. "I want to help you and the Alliance, Chevu..."

And then he stopped talking, his neck craning to the side as he slowed his pace, forcibly so as he halted Chevu. "We have nothing of value..." Chevu would see his attention change, the four men in the darkness crept from the alley way to encircle them.

"Seems like you've got enough..." The grizzly voice in the dark was hoarse and offensive, the act of intimidation nearly set Gabriel from his purpose. He had to control himself now, more than before.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

Softer, smaller green fingers intertwined with tan, calloused ones. Chevu rose from the table, smiling at her new friend, and hopefully new ally in the fight against the Sith. As he paid for the meal, the Mirialan sensed a mood change in Gabriel. Or was it a mood change in her? Either way it was as if the wind had suddenly stopped, the air as still and strange as a wormhole in space.

They walked through the Lower City, and without prompting, Chevu put her arm through his. Although her Force prowess was fine-tuned, she felt protected by him. Comforted. It felt nice. They began to talk of the Alliance again, but something drew his attention away. Four men. In the evening gloom, she could not see weapons, but she knew they were there. Jaw tightened like a vice. Fingers clenched into fists. As a Jedi Knight, Chevu was trained to deal with situations like this. Peaceful solutions first. Violence only in self-defense.

“Please,” she implored them, remembering how passive [member="Jacen Voidstalker"] and [member="Aela Talith"], both traditional light siders, made their voices sound. Yet, in her head there was also the undeniable presence of her new Master, [member="Coren Starchaser"], fringe Forcer, who struck first and asked questions later.

“Leave now and you will not be harmed.” With a wave of her hand, Chevu reached out with the Force as she spoke, attempting a Jedi mind trick on as many of them as would succumb. She was not a Master with the ability, so Force only knew if one or none would leave them in peace.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The light flickered from the street lights above, a cast of sickly yellow from the halogen. From the single view, Gabriel could see that they were Epicanthix. Immune to her powers, he laughed inwardly at the luck of it all. Now, it would be more of a balancing act, somewhere between not being robbed and not ripping their spines from their useless bodies. He bared his teeth as he looked back to to Chevu, prepared for the fight. It was then that he caught the glimpse of a shine in the darkness, his left hand stretching out instinctively in guard of the Mirialan. Not that she needed it, but he couldn't seem to help it.

The shiv bit deep into the middle of his palm, stopping only at the hand guard before Gabriel clenched the hand around the attacking fist and grappled the attacker. Another attack, from the dark, a quarter staff struck hard against his right clavicle and shoulder, sending wood and debris behind him as it shattered. Un-phased by the strike, his uninjured hand struck forward and grabbed what was left of the quarter staff. As he gripped it, he punched forward and struck the man in the face with a hard fist. Right foot jumping out, he kicked the man in the groin before crossing over, hitting the shiv attacker across the left temple and sending him flying into the wall. The strength of the disguised voxyn arm couldn't be denied, it was a super human thing attempting to hold glass within delicate grip, breaking it without pause.

Looking down at his left hand, it trembled as he starred at the shiv and felt the break in the clavicle. Cosmetic wounds, nothing but flesh and bone, he pulled a sash from his waist and wrapped the hand, following removal and drop of the weapon. He stood on his appropriate side of Chevu, not concerned with how she would interact with the two opponents left. She was a fighter, he knew that much, and instead focused on the two subdued before him.

"Leave now..." He couldn't promise they would go unharmed. He had already done enough to them for one night, enough to rouse some form of fear. They drifted off into the night. The clap of shoes against cobbled echoed in the darkness, until there was nothing left. Nothing left but his blood, dripping slowly from the wound to form a trickle. He flexed his hand repeatedly, stretching the wrap around the palm, as he inspected the damage.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

It was obvious to Chevu by the way the she felt the Force flowing around their minds like water around a stump, that the Taris thugs were impervious to her mind tricks. The Mirialan caught Gabriel’s eye, and what she saw in his bright blue pools chilled her to the bone. There was something there, right behind his eyes, a sublime sort of horror, beautiful and terrifying all at once. She blinked and it was gone, and he was moving towards the thugs.

Then, a chaotic mess of grappling came. “NO!” she shouted, the ferocity of her cry, a violation of the dead silence that seemed to surround them. There was a glint of a knife, a splash of blood, and the crack of wood. Then Gabriel became a monster before her eyes. Ripping into the men, punching one, and kicking the other before the man was flung like a doll.

He wrapped his hand nonchalantly, as if it were a mundane task, his stigmata bright red against the sash. Two bodies lay slumped on duracrete, and the other two were backing up, pushing the other out of the way, eyes wide with terror. Turning tail, they ran into the shadows, disappearing from the sector.

The lines in her smooth green forehead deepened. Her eyes burned with a strange mixture of fear and concern. Chevu turned to Gabriel and took his wrist, wrapping his wounded hand in both of her smaller green ones. Letting the Force flow through her, she released energy through her palms, letting it seep into his hands. It would soothe the pain and speed up his cells’ natural healing ability. She locked eyes with him, a rut in her brow, and a frown etched on her face.

“You’re quite a fighter, Gabriel.” she said in a small broken voice, one that cracked with fear. He was previously a pit-fighter, yes, but she’d never seen such power from a Non-Force user, and that unnerved her deeply.

“We should get you some proper medical attention.”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

Gabriel had always been a capable fighter. Similar to the Hand of the Dark Lord, [member="Vrag"], he was one who depended on his knuckles and weapons far more than the projection of the force. He recalled a fight similar to this, in Tattooine, that ended far differently. As she gripped his hand, he felt the pouring in of the lightside, the healing and soothing vibes that reduced the ache, the sort of pain he sought. In her hands, his sat with fingers outstretched, as he moved it about to ensure it could still be used. "The strike missed the tendons and ligaments..." This wasn't the first time that hand had been wounded, but he didn't care for that so much as the expression on Chevu's face. For the tone in her voice. He frowned slightly, tilting his head.

"Back on Arkania...I was trying to help a small family. A mother and a young boy, I believe their names were..." He paused. "Arden was the mother, Lucien the sons name. I recall it because they visited me at the hospital." He smiled as he placed his other hand on top of hers, obviously concerned. He could sense her worry, she wore it on her sleeve. "We were set upon in a similar fashion as just now. The family made it out just fine but not before the muggers took what diamonds I had and nearly killed me." He looked down, ashamed to admit that he was no match for that particular fight. "I carry the scars as reminder." Scars he did carry, some of them proceeding his descent into madness and anger and hate. Beneath the visage of green, Gabriel could sense a tremor of worry and concern. He had over extended himself.

"When I was captured and taken to the pits, they had a master of Teräs Käsi." He pursed his lips. "The man, of course, wouldn't teach me. But I watched, I learned what I could, and learned to block out pain. It has...helped. For survival." He looked down at his hand. "I have a sewing kit and bacta patches, I think it will be fine." He lifted his right hand to caress the edge of cheek to try to make contact once more. "I'm sorry Chevu, I didn't mean to scare you or concern you. I just wanted to protect you, keep others from getting hurt." He smiled and moved his wounded hand within hers, thumb rubbing the inside of her palm. "I guess I failed at that, didn't I?"

He clenched his jaw. "We should get you home before they come back."

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

So much tragedy had struck Gabriel, she almost cursed the Maker. It did not seem fair that the kind-hearted were allowed to suffer so? Or perhaps it was because of his suffering that the man nurtured and grew this graciousness towards the galaxy.

“Home…” Chevu trailed off, her expression far away. She suddenly remembered the second shipment of relief supplies had been delayed. They would have to wait until dawn to be delivered, so she couldn't go home just yet. Gabriel’s hand was feather-light as it grazed her cheek. Chevu forget her apprehension about the man. Her new friend had acted in self-defense, something no Jedi could scoff at. How could she be so ungrateful thinking him a monster? He apologized for scaring her, and she shook her head.

“Please don't apologize,” she said sheepishly. “I was rattled when the assailants resisted my Mind Trick. I am lucky you were here, Gabriel. With the four of them and only one of me...” Chevu was a powerful Jedi Knight, but an untested one, so the Mirialan was still very vulnerable in ways. Her lack of confidence was surely a weakness they would have exploited.

When Gabriel mentioned his failure, she shook her head vehemently. “Oh, don’t say that!” she exclaimed. “For what you've done tonight, I am in your debt!”

Before she even knew what she was doing, she moved forward and stood on her tiptoes, letting her lips meet his. The kiss was innocent, and she pulled back almost as quickly as she had advanced. The apples of her cheeks showed a clear pink blush creeping over her smooth green skin, and her embarrassed gaze was averted. What was wrong with her? Perhaps it was simply the adrenaline making her erratic. Force only knew.

“I, um, can’t go back to Sullust yet, Gabriel. I have supplies to deliver in the morning, so I was going to go back to the spaceport, and just sleep on my ship.”

She had a transport ship parked not too far from the sector, a YT-1760 light transport freighter. It was a vintage ship, however Coren had nothing but praise for it. He was probably the Alliance’s best pilot so she trusted him when it came to flying.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BYSdLYmfQG4​

The words weren't a surprise, the kiss was. The Wrath was not often used to such things, the softness far removed from what he considered normal. As green lips touched his, he felt a sense of something. A past, a life lived. It reminded him of Sylvia, it reminded him of the early spring in the lower elevations of Arkania. The peek of the grass from the snow, the resilience of the tundra flora, and his house on the snow covered hill. It reminded him of smoke rising from the brick, the house warmed on a bright and cold day. For once, he closed his eyes, taken back by the rush of a memory long buried. Children running, their footsteps in the snow, quickly overcome by the slightest breeze. It wasn't a wet snow, but a dry sort, the kind that lingers for days. But that was all, it just lingered, never oppressive.

They were having fun that day, school was canceled due to a the teachers having a force restructuring of curriculum. Sylvia complained because she was going to spend the day cleaning, taking care of the house, while Gabriel tended to the family business. Diamonds. The Adasca family had afforded their bastard some form of work, dealing with the security at the processing factory. He had a mind for science and a tortured past, but ambitions were important in making it in the Arkanian society. But his appearance held him back, kept even drive from making a difference beyond the solitary confinement of his property. But he didn't care, he loved. His wife, his children, he felt at east and fulfilled. And it was a memory, brought forth by the lips of a Mirialan and a tenderness he had gone so long without.

He hated that memory, he hated the idea that he had lost something, left something behind for the life he now lived. He hated that he was being made to feel something, the warmth of a kiss reminding him of the fire. But if he hated it, why press against it? As she pulled away, he held on for a moment, just that final surrender, before her lips escaped his. As much as that was her idea, he was fully invested in it.

As she pulled away, she spoke about home and he recalled his. And how he didn't miss it. Not the one on Arkania, the one in Selvaris. For as much as he deemed pain the all encompassing emotion and experience, he didn't long for it now. And the ache in his hand was a burning nuisance. But he offered his arm, in escort with a smile.

"Well...I assuredly cannot walk you to Sullust. Until then, I suppose we will have to settle with your ship." He looked out into the darkness. "But I'm afraid I still don't know the way." He said, once more with a smile. Perhaps one of deceit could become one of sincerity, the Wrath felt as if he no longer knew who he was, actively losing himself. Maybe that was the plan all along. Or maybe not.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

A speeder taxi was hailed out of the congested Coruscanti sky. As the adrenaline finally wore off, the Mirialan’s mind no longer a tangle. As she slid into the speeder taxi, she instantly curled up next to Gabriel. Chevu’s parents died in a shuttle crash, as they evacuated Coruscant as it fell under One Sith occupation. Their untimely death had robbed the green alien child of that crutch of emotional safety provided by a family. Gabriel’s arms made up for that absence.

As the pair spilled out of the speeder taxi, the docking bay was wrapped in a ghostly sort of stillness. The loading ramp of the Jedi’s light freighter descended, welcoming them into the light freighter. Audrey Starchaser’s R5 chirped a greeting. Chevu had borrowed the friendly little astromech as a navigator for this trip. He was a strange one though. Kind of like the Starchaser niece herself, almost the polar opposite of Coren.

“R5, this is Gabriel,” Chevu said, giving the droid a playful little rap on its head. Turning over her shoulder she smiled, “We just call him R5." Dropping her gaze to the droid, she gave a tired laugh. "I don't think Audrey gave you a name, did she?”

“I’ll find you some bacta patches for your hand, and we can get it wrapped properly.”

Had Gabriel officially committed to joining the Alliance? She wasn’t quite sure, and felt it would be rude to press him on the matter. Either way, they both needed some rest. The sleeping compartments sat open behind her, their small, single beds inviting. She gestured to one with a delicate green hand.

“Do you have a place to stay tonight? If not, there’s plenty of room. Choose any bed you’d like.”

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The universe was colder than it needed to be, the warmth of her embrace was enough to offset it temporarily as they rode towards the space port. Following her out, he gave a curious expression to the astromech droid as she greeted it with a rap. "Hello R5." The astromech responded with a chirp, one met with a tilt of the head as if a dog hearing an unusual sound. Following up the ramp slowly, his hand touched against the metal interior of the ship as he looked towards the lights across the ceiling. He recognized the vessel, one of the Corellian transport vessels, the YT-1760 if he recalled. "You're very kind Chevu...I appreciate that." He said quietly, the wandering Wrath feeling unusually at ease.

"I don't have a home..." He said as he looked towards the bed. In truth, he didn't often take value in comfort besides the throbbing pulse of one particular hot tub on the Teleute. "I had plans to make due before I met you." That was the truth, night spent seamless and awake, tormenting paupers and the like with false acts of charity. But more and more, he seemed to lose the appreciation for such acts, the low road dark when seen from on high.

There was a round table in the ship, near the birthing location for passengers and crew and he absentmindedly took a seat, placing the robe over the back of the chair. Pulling a pouch from his robe pocket, he scooted the opposing chair from table and pleaded with the woman to sit. Both with the gesture of his unwounded hand and his eyes, he smiled. "I don't need your ships bacta patches, Chevu...I just need you." He held out his injured hand, a tremor in the wrist as he held the palm upward, hoping she would take it. She would need to hold it while he injected a serum to stop the bleeding.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

Chevu’s head swam with confusion. According to Master Oomomo, the Jedi should not form attachments. It allowed emotion to cloud one’s judgements and blur one’s focus. Her training forbade it, yet, since she had been freed from her apprenticeship under Oomomo, the Mirialan had formed at least one attachment; the first a a shifter named Peyton, and now she was in danger of forming another. Why had she eschewed all of her training? Was it the absence of Oomomo’s presence, or was it some emotional rebellion against his inevitable passing as he finally succumbed to his strange racial illness.

As she took his hand, she thought she could faintly smell the pine trees of Arkania, and see the snow drifts reflected in his clear blue eyes. She felt the warmth that emanating off his body, a potent reminder that in a galaxy where death was so happenstance, that they were both very much alive.

“I’m here, Gabriel,” she reassured him, caressing his hand lightly with her fingers. By some miracle, she had managed to control her urge to seek out a different kind of touch. She kissed his hand once as he injected the serum. What was she doing? How did one even keep these heady feelings at bay? Chevu had no Holo-map for this. She was trying to play the role of a friend who gives solace, but her body was betraying her innocent intentions. She only hoped that the man would not hear the loud patter of her heart, beating in her chest like the wings of a bat.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

The syringe came out from the pouch, plastic with a sharpened needle that appeared fresh. "I met a doctor a while back, this serum pulls the blood back from the wound while sterilizing it and numbing it." He placed the plastic cap in his lips and yanked the needle free, pressing it into the surface of the skin on his palm, near the edge of the circular wound that passed from palm to back of hand. Pressing his thumb down, he pushed the plunger and gripped his hand tight as it shook. There was an initial shock as the waves of pain radiated out from the injection spot, more so than from most injections, and he focused on Chevu. Her kissing his hand as the pain subsided was once more an expression he didn't expect, nor quite understand. Like remembering having read a book without recalling the words, he tilted his head as he watched her and smiled.

Soon enough, what was pain turned into a roaring silence as the throb dissipated. He clenched his fist in an out, the blood no longer dripping from the wound. Spitting the plastic needle cap on to the table, he pulled out a bacta patch while she held his hands, his fingers now outstretched. Pulling on the adhesive cover, he let the material fall into his lap as he ran the bacta patch over the palm. "I had spotted a nice overhang, near where I met you. Truth be told..." He pulled another patch out of the pouch, slowly turning his hand over to allow her to maintain grip. He performed the same ritual, placing the patch on it. "I had plans on sleeping on the street. Maybe find a settlers camp, some sort of group..."

He smiled at the confession, which was true. Though the purpose would be implied, which explicitly deviated from his original intent. "But now that I'm here, in your ship..." The bandaging was done as he scooted forward, the difference between their two chairs now no longer apparent. He placed his free hand on top of one of hers, thumbing one of her knuckles as he looked down at her hands. "I have this odd feeling..." He looked up into her dark eyes. "That I belong here...With you."

He didn't believe in fate, he didn't believe in the guiding power of the force. But for some reason, he bought into the idea that maybe there was something omnipotent at work here. How else could he explain his feelings, his change in motives. The fact that he couldn't, that bothered him, something he willfully internalized to prevent it's expression.

[member="Chevu Visz"]​

 

[Chevu Visz]

The turmoil in Chevu’s life, especially recently, had not given the Mirialan much of an emotional reprieve. She had no atlas for these strange things she was feeling. It was easier to simply focus on his hands and on the syringe rather than meet Gabriel’s gaze and watch, wincing, as the liquid was pushed into his skin. Soon, he dropped the syringe, and she watched him apply bacta patches. He didn’t seem to mind her hands still laying on his. She was visibly touched by his announcement that he was going to sleep on the street.

“I understand completely,” she admitted, nervously glancing at the sleepers. “Sometimes I go to bed feeling undeserving of comfort when so many sleep on duracrete.”

She blinked, eyes locking again on him. Back to Gabriel. Always back to Gabriel. She could feel nothing but his thumb running over her knuckles.

“I…” Words folded into one another, unable to be expressed. A collage of mixed emotions fell on the page of her mind. Then faces. She felt something for Gabriel, but what of the gorgeous shifter back on Sullust? The one who had consumed her daydreams in between training. What was the algorithm for a situation such as this? She had come here on a relief mission for the Galactic Alliance. Bring it back to the Alliance, Chevu!

“Yes, you belong to the Alliance, Gabriel.” she said with a confident nod of her head, deflecting the statement, her knowing brown eyes hiding fugitive desires.

“It’s late,” she quickly added. Yet she did not let go of his hands.

[member="Reverance"]

 

[Reverance]

A micro expression, a smile, it flashed across his lips as the warm tips of his fingers traced the grooves of her knuckles. Ridge by ridge, he moved the skin over the bone as he felt the texture of her flesh. Imagined if that softness continued on, forever. Beneath leather jacket, biker pants, and a willingness to deflect the intimacy of the statement. A tick of the eye, he stared into those dark eyes. The contrast to her green flesh, the markings of her talents beneath her eyes, had him entranced. "To the alliance..." He paused.

His left wounded hand twisted her right hand in his, slowly and softly, gripping her thumb and inside of her palm. Closing his blue eyes, he would lift her hand to his sharp facial features, jaw and cheek. Fingers pressed against her skin, he nudged her hand softly as he breathed in slowly. Could it all be blamed on some change that he had made over the night? Not likely, but he felt for the first time in a long time. More than he had ever felt, beyond the relishing of pain and it's inflection. The heightened sense, the arousal that followed and the fall at last, there was more to this. Perhaps it was the allure of her innocence, the breaking of something that seemed adamantly opposed. He told himself that, reassured himself that things wouldn't change, they couldn't.

"What of you Chevu?" He opened his eyes, his breath against her flesh, his warm touch against hers. "Do I got to Sullust, for the Alliance alone?" He tilted his head, just the slightest, breathing in heavily as he searched her eyes for the truth. He could hear her pulse, the throb of the vein against her temple, and his delving might reveal that she couldn't hide that from him. "You are right...it is late." He chewed on his bottom lip. "Tell me to sleep and reluctantly...I will."

[member="Chevu Visz"]​